Five Women Mickey Could've Met in Time and Space
by nombrehetomado
Summary: Mickey Smith, you are going to enjoy this...we’ve dropped out of time, Martha, don’t you see? We could go back with dirt from places that never existed…


Five Women Mickey Smith Could've Met Travelling in Space and Time

1. When Mickey Smith was grabbed by the hand and told to run, he didn't stop to think. Rose Tyler was dead, lying broken-necked on the floor surrounded by shop dummies. He'd only had time to register the fact, _God_, _they're moving_, before a hand jerked his shoulder round, and suddenly he was running.

After an entirely too long day of being tripped, strangled, and facing a vat of conscious plastic, Mickey Smith, a mechanic covered in the remains of sentient Barbie dolls, faced a question:

"Would you like to come? Anywhere, any time. You can see the first dawn, the last sunset on Earth. I promise, lots of planets have sports, though you may not want to get too involved in Madrifonalis' teams, they tend to have an awkward tradition involving an oversized duck and their fans…

There was a police box and a babbling woman in a tweed jacket and red cotton slacks, and Mickey stopped listening and walked forward.

"Fantastic. You'll enjoy this…"

With a sound like a rusty whistle, Mickey Smith travelled through space and time.

2. All he wanted was a jaunt through time: see some aliens, stick out just a little bit. He certainly didn't ask to be captured by someone who clearly had too much hairspray and too much time on her hands.

_God, at least "The Doctor" sounds normal. Who goes around calling themselves "The Rani"?_

3. He may have gotten lost in the market of Jabchryss. To be fair, though, it was much easier than it looks to lose the only other two-armed, two-legged person in a crowd of flowering lizards.

Out of the corner of his vision he caught a glimpse of mercifully human skin and a brown jacket. Shoving aside a Chryssian—who objected rather too crossly, as Mickey wiped either pollen or spit, he didn't want to know, from his cheek—he grabbed the jacket: "Doctor!"

Forming a quick idea of anger with a side of puzzlement, he was knocked to the ground with a punch. And now Mickey Smith was looking up at a woman decidedly _not_ the Doctor, but still at least human-looking, with a very imaginative weapon at his throat. Jab. Alright, pushing against his throat.

"How do you know the Professor?"

"Who?"

Ow. No more questions on his part, then.

"The Professor? The Doctor?"

His vision started to cloud over, but he managed to hear:

"Ace?!"

and

""Oh, no, I regenerated. Yes, yes, still myself, just a few more things to work out than usual: not too bad, though, got some ginger hair this time 'round, definitely could be worse…where's your motorbike?"

Brilliant.

4. Madame de Pompadour was beautiful, Mickey could see that. And she shouldn't have to die by bizarre clockwork men.

But she was so wrong here. He was one to talk, Mickey Smith in the wrong century, wrong solar system, but seeing her here—all elegance and grace of 18th century France in a broken-down, cannibal scavenger spaceship. He fought the urge to tell her all about the England-France match, just so there could be something connecting.

"And who are you, Monsiuer?"

He startled himself into looking her in the eyes, searching for an answer.

"I travel with her. The Doctor, I mean. I…I'm not really sure."

The Doctor was looking at the wind-up's mechanics, muttering to herself, but Madame—_Reinette_, it was, here and now, but that was then to someone, wasn't it? Her now was his past, the here is a fireplace away from centuries and light-years; Reinette's here: who knew how much time and space could fit in a room?

She was still looking, searching him for something he wasn't sure he had—something to make him fit in anyhere. He had to look away.

When they left, Mickey found a small French flag in his room, like he'd seen at World Cup matches.

5. Francine Jones did not enjoy the Doctor, but at least she didn't slap her in the face. Mickey was not so lucky.

Martha seemed to like him well, though. There was him and the Doctor, and now there was her as well. Two humans, one alien; two women, one man; two Doctors, one Mickey.

Seeing someone else react to the inside of the TARDIS, though, that was worth being outnumbered and outmatched in every argument.

When he rolled over that night, after their daily fiasco, he realized he wasn't alone anymore when they travelled to some alien world—there was someone else new to this, another human-shaped piece of linear time splashing about in circles, rectangles, jagged lines that branch and double back.

She caught him one day, wandering the halls, asking himself where it ends. When he told her what he thought (--_we've dropped out of time, Martha, don't you see? We could go back with dirt from places that never existed…it's just better with three, you know? Someone else to do __this__ with, who can understand_--), she looked at him differently.

The Doctor felt that the TARDIS should lock some doors, or at least make it clear she wasn't welcome before she had the impression of a well-chucked shoe on her face.


End file.
